Broceliande
by Momerath
Summary: The events of The Last Dragonlord catch up with Merlin in the person of Morgana, Arthur's wondering exactly what he stands for and Sir Leon gets a backstory.
1. Chapter 1

**Broceliande **

**A/N: **This is my first ever fanfic, so please be gentle. I've only even been reading fanfic for a couple of weeks – I'm very much still learning. Obviously the BBC owns everyone. I've also thieved inspiration from Tennyson and Malory, but they are less likely to be bothered, I imagine.

This takes place about a year post- The Last Dragonlord, so is mildly spoilery for S2. It's a Merlin/Arthur friendship fic, but if you want to look at it slashily, do feel free.

* * *

"Did you really think," said Morgana, "that you would get away with it?"

Merlin opened his eyes. His head pounded. His first impression was the cold, damp, mossy stone on which his aching body lay, and the curious thundering of...water? Was that water? Only water could be so loud. He dragged himself to a sitting position and made a quick inventory of the pains. Head. Check. Ribs. Check. Back. Check. He leaned backwards and supported his head against the uneven, sharp wall of rock, it was difficult to keep his head straight on his shoulders without the support. He could taste blood in his mouth.

Morgana stood before him – she had always been beautiful, but in the year since he had seen her, she had become both more beautiful and more awful, staring at him with the unfocused eyes of the deranged. Behind her was a curtain of shimmering, crashing water, and all around the air in the cave throbbed with a strange energy, his skin trembled in contact with the air, and it reminded him of something...He couldn't maintain a train of thought at the moment.

"Get away with what?" He groaned, running his tongue around his mouth to check for teeth. They all seemed present. But before Morgana even answered, his brain caught up with the situation and he remembered, riding home from a wholly unsuccessful hunting trip with an irate Arthur, just in the plains below Camelot, a huge flash of light, his horse rearing, and then coming to on the cold wet stone. A panic suddenly filled him. "Where's Arthur? Where is he? What have you done?"

Morgana rolled her eyes dismissively. "I didn't touch him. It's you who I am interested in at the moment." She was quite mad, Merlin decided. It was as though she were in a fever, her face was bright, she moved with awkward movements and spoke in a voice strangely detached from the familiar Morgana voice. "_Hemlock_?" she practically spat at him.

Oh. He allowed himself to sink back onto the clammy ground. He had rehearsed many explanations, long and complicated explorations of the thinking, philosophy and logic behind her poisoning, but they couldn't possibly be delivered in this environment, and anyway, he wasn't sure he could be bothered. He was certain Morgana was unreachable anyway. He was very tired. Suddenly he knew why the electric atmosphere was familiar. "Is this the Isle of the Blessed?"  
She was now kneeling beside him, her hair brushing his cheek, as she tied a chain around one of his wrists. For the first time, she looked surprised. "You know the Isle of the Blessed?"

"I was there with Nimeuh."

She reached across for his other unresisting hand. "When you murdered her, you mean? Of course. Morgause told me about your talents, Merlin. I wouldn't have believed you capable of some of your actions, but you are not at all the person you pretend to be, are you?"

Merlin had to agree with that assessment.

"This isn't the Isle of the Blessed, but it is a place of the Old Religion like the Isle of the Blessed. Morgause and I are not yet equal to Nimeuh's power. We will replace her eventually, though. We are in the forest of Broceliande." She stood up. "Merlin, you understand we cannot have you against us. Morgause hoped I could persuade you to be with us, but I know...I know that is impossible. That _is _impossible, isn't it?"

"Definitely." Nothing much at all was clear to him at all just now, but that much was. There was a shard of rock between his shoulder-blades which sent spasms of pain all over his bruised body.

"Your loyalty to a regime foreign to you which persecutes your kind is astonishing. And not in an impressive way. But I recognise your determination. You know we will succeed, Merlin, in killing Uther. I don't want to kill Arthur, but he will stand in our way – you and I both know that – and I can't allow it. We will destroy Camelot as it exists now. Magic will return to the land, the Old Religion will rule and you, Merlin, you who could have been the most powerful warlock in the kingdom, will be trapped here."

"Dead, you mean." Every other time Merlin had faced his, Camelot and Arthur's imminent destruction, he had always possessed options, however extreme. It had never seemed like the _end. _This did. It was almost a comfort to lie on the wet rock, luxuriating in every sensation as his last.

"I do not mean dead. Morgause has given me a charm from the most ancient times. They used to employ it on exiled sorcerers who had broken the laws of the Old Religion. You will lie here, Merlin, alive but as though dead. You are a traitor to the Old Religion. You could have served it so well, Merlin, you could have saved so many lives and instead you killed and you betrayed and you gave power to the enemy. We find you guilty, and we punish you."

Her eyes flashed the familiar orange, the words filled the air, and Merlin realised with a dreadful weight on him that he had, indeed, thought he would get away with it. Because when hadn't he before?

The moment Sir Leon saw the guard sidling up to him, he knew the shift was going to take a bad turn. He lay down the cards he was playing with Sir Gareth, and said: "yes?" as brusquely as possible, in the hope that the tone of voice would alert the more enterprising part of the guard's brain to problem-solve independently. It didn't. The guard scratched his nose, nervously.

"Excuse me, Sir Leon, there is a...lady here to see Prince Arthur."

That was unexpected. Gareth snorted, inelegantly, and said "Oh _re-ally_?"

"Guard, it's almost one in the morning," pointed out Leon, as steadily and calmly as possible. "Who is she? Do you know her? Is she a noble? Hasn't she lodgings?"

The guard looked desperate for a moment, and a little disbelieving of his own courage, as he offered: "Sir, she's a Lady of the Lake."

Gareth stopped smiling, and Leon accepted his quiet night shift had vanished. He reached for his sword. "There is a _creature of magic at the gates of Camelot asking to see Prince Arthur in the middle of the night_?" He clarified, in a low growl.

"Sir," and the words rushed out now, "Sir, she says she has information about the whereabouts of Merlin, the Prince's servant. And the Prince did look for him for – well, so long – and she _is _a Lady of the Lake. I mean, I know all magic is evil, but I thought..."

"There is no 'but' at the end of that sentence, friend," observed Gareth, laconically.

"Gareth –" Leon stepped in almost, involuntarily.

Gareth looked at Leon, Leon looked at Gareth, and Gareth shrugged. "Not my shift, my friend."

"Take her to the dungeons, guard – quietly. She isn't under arrest. For the love of Camelot do _not _make her angry. I'll meet you there. Make sure she doesn't see anyone."

The first thing Leon noticed about the Lady of the Lake which the guard had failed to mention in his excitement, was that she was armed. She carried a beautiful sword by her side, carelessly, as though she had never held a sword before. He gripped his own a little firmer.

He had never seen an actual Lady of the Lake before. His mother had sworn she had as a young woman seen Ladies of the Lake being greeted in Camelot's great hall – before Uther's time, of course. This Lady was as he had imagined. Although utterly dry, her clothes and hair were as though she had just emerged from the sea, and her voice rose and fell gently, as though with the tide.

"My Lady," he said politely, to play it safe. He was still eyeing the spectacular sword. His mother had never mentioned the Ladies being armed.

The Lady picked up on his nervousness, and leaned the sword against the wall of the cell. "That is not mine, it is Prince Arthur's. Can I see him, please?"

Sir Leon tried to consider a polite answer. "I shouldn't have really let you this far, my Lady. You must know our laws here. But the guard said..."

"I know where Prince Arthur's servant, Merlin, is. I certainly mean Arthur no harm, my only wish is to see Merlin free."  
"My Lady, Merlin has been missing for three months. It seems doubtful that wherever he is, he is still alive..." he trailed off. She was becoming angry. Never make a Lady of the Lake angry, his mother had said.

"You show me no trust. You have no _idea _of the trust I am showing _you, _and Prince Arthur, by being here! Merlin _is _alive, and it is not a luxury decision of Prince Arthur's to rescue him. You cannot imagine, Sir Leon, the forces of destruction which are lining up against you. They do not comply with _your _lawsor play by the rules of your _jousting tournaments_. This battle is unlike any battle you will have ever faced. If you, or Prince Arthur, imagine you can face them alone, you are deluding yourselves to the ultimate ruin of the kingdom. I do not wish for that destruction, Sir Leon, but I cannot stop it alone, and do not imagine that now I have offered you help I will forgive a refusal."

And so it was Sir Leon went to wake Prince Arthur in the middle of the night with the confused message that there was Lady of the Lake - with his sword - downstairs, claiming to be working on their behalf against forces of evil, and with information to rescue Merlin, but, as he followed a running Arthur down the stairs, Leon added "Sire, I'm really _not _sure we are talking about the same Merlin."

* * *

The Lady was standing exactly where Leon had left her. She handed the sword to Arthur. "This is yours. Take it up. The time to put it down is far off."

"Er – well, thanks." What else could you say, really? "It's certainly very beautiful." It seemed to glow, even in the dank dungeon. "Interesting steel," he commented, vaguely.

"Its name is Excalibur," she added, indifferently.

"Oh. Well, lovely. Thank you. I've...never had a sword with a name before." Arthur was acutely aware of Leon behind him, and that he wasn't striking a confident leadership pose. But how to lead a conversation about named swords?

"No need to thank me, a friend gave it to me for safekeeping for you. It is fired in dragon's breath, the magic is strong. But this scabbard is as valuable to you. While you wear it, you cannot shed blood."

Arthur took the scabbard, completely off the page now. "Does it have a name?"

She returned the stare, unfazed. "No."

Arthur attempted to revive himself. "Sir Leon tells me you know where Merlin is. I have looked everywhere. I thought for certain he was lost."

"Not everywhere. Do you know the forest of Broceliande?"

"Broceliande?" _Broceliande_? "Isn't that in Brittany? That is well beyond our borders. That is King Hoel's land."

"They say there are fairies there, sire," added Leon, whose mood by now had plummeted so low that he felt there was no embarrassment left enough to touch him. A sense of foreboding had settled across Camelot for years, but none more acutely than at this moment. All his mother's dire warnings about the folly of alienating good magic with bad were returning to him. How, his mother had demanded, can you expect to fight the bad when you have no good to meet it?

Arthur stared at him in disbelief. "_Fairies_? Leon, please, get a grip." He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What the hell is Merlin doing in Broceliande? How do you come by this information?"

The Lady fixed him with an insolently calm gaze. "There is no trap. I have a connection with Merlin."

"_You _have a connection with _my servant_?"

"I do. It has taken me some time and effort to find him, but I succeeded eventually. Morgause and Morgana, they imagine they possess a great power, Prince Arthur, but the only thing more dangerous than someone with great power is someone who thinks they do. They don't realise, Prince Arthur, that it is the boy. They underestimate him, his power and his cruelty. It has always been the boy. You must find Merlin and rescue him, and you must face this together."

Arthur had gone deathly pale, and his grip on Excalibur had loosened. "Morgana?"

"Yes. She and Morgause are united together against you. You must know her darkness by now, Sire. How else was she immune from Morgause's enchantment?" The Lady moved for the first time, walking past both Arthur and Leon, both stunned. "You must rescue Merlin, Prince Arthur. He has saved your life many times, he deserves the favour repaid. And if you do, please remind him of Freya."

"Well, _of course_ I'm going to rescue him!" Arthur surfaced from his shock in disgusted outrage, but realised the Lady had left as calmly and unhurriedly as she had arrived. And he was left holding a magic sword and scabbard.

He glanced quickly at Leon's dazed face. A leap of faith, maybe, but a well-judged leap nevertheless, he decided. "Leon," he said. "Have you ever been to Brittany, then?"


	2. Chapter 2

There were, of course, many questions, all of which Arthur had plenty of time to consider on the long journey to Broceliande.

Why had Morgana taken Merlin, and not he? Why did Merlin have a connection with a Lady of the Lake? What boy?

By the time they arrived at Broceliande, both Arthur and Sir Leon were tired of the questions. The biggest question on Sir Leon's mind at the point was what Uther's reaction would be when he realised Arthur had lied about the conference in Mercia.

"All right." Arthur pulled up the horses. They were at the centre of the forest, it was thick, overgrown, branches stroking their faces and logs and crawling vines tripping their horses. The sky wasn't visible through the lush canopy, the very air seemed green. Apart from the thundering of a waterfall, it was absolutely silent. Where were the creatures? The sound of the waterfall in Sir Leon's ears was replaced by the thundering of his own heart. He looked at his prince, who was looking sheet-white in the gloomy forest, terrified but absolutely determined. It was a look familiar to Sir Leon from being by his side during many charges. "All right – we're splitting up."

"We are?" In his surprise, the doubt was unveiled.

"Yes." He glared at Sir Leon. "We are. I don't like this place, Leon, we can't stay here too long. Even the air feels...wrong."

"It's magic," diagnosed Leon, absently.

"_Quite_. Okay –you take that way towards the water, I'm going further in." He unsheathed Excalibur from the scabbard and stared at it, as though looking for confidence in it he was lacking in himself.

"Sire – "

"Leon." The emotional and physical exhaustion was written across Arthur's face and illustrated by his tone. "Please, just –" And Leon complied.

That Arthur had been utterly distraught by his servant's kidnap had been common knowledge amongst those who knew him best. He hadn't said anything, but he hadn't had to. Leon had seen Arthur broken twice in his life. Once was after the terrible confrontation with his father in the great hall. The second was when Gaius came out to meet the hunting party, missing one member. There hadn't been actual tears, but Arthur's voice had failed him, and as Leon had held his horse, he could see the hands shaking. They had ridden miles searching for Merlin, put out embassies to neighbouring kingdoms enquiring about ransoms, all under the guise of thinking perhaps Merlin had been taken in error for Arthur, but everyone knew Arthur was just trying to find his friend. Gareth had said that less would have been done if a knight had been taken, and even generous Leon had to admit that was probably true. Leon could hear his prince yelling Merlin's name through the forest.

Leon didn't like the feel of Broceliande. His mother's stories of the fairies in this forest hadn't, in general, had happy endings. He didn't believe it was a malicious trap – he knew enough from his mother not to believe a Lady of the Lake capable of that – but there was no denying that this potentially a very difficult situation against which he and Arthur held no cards apart from a possibly magical sword and scabbard...and then he saw the pathway behind the waterfall.

Growing up, Leon's household had never been magical _as such_. He knew he had an older brother he had never met in hiding in Northumberland, and he knew his mother's knowledge of 'folklore' was nothing of the kind. He knew his mother had watched him closely as a child, waiting for the dreaded symptoms of inherited skills, but they had never developed. Yet none of these things had ever directly been referred to. However, certain things are handed down without any formality, and one of these things were the fact a pathway behind a waterfall was the likeliest spot for a witch to store away a hostage. Abandoning the horse, he moved carefully behind the sparkling curtain of water, and....oh _gods. _Merlin, slumped against the wall, glassy eyes staring emptily ahead, skin faintly green around the eyes and mouth."_SIRE!" _he roared.

Later, Merlin would never satisfactorily be able to explain the three months he had spent still, alone, unable to stop watching the water's endless falling, with no breath, no heartbeat, no sensation of warmth or cold, no sensation of pain or comfort, wondering if Camelot had fallen, wondering if Arthur were dead or alive, wondering if his mother was safe, wondering if he would ever know.

Hearing someone approach, he had assumed it was Morgause or Morgana, come to gloat. Had he carefully run through a list of other potential candidates, even with the time on his hands he currently had, it is still unlikely that Sir Leon would have appeared on the list. An emotion like surprise in his rigid body made him feel about to burst, with no movement to demonstrate it. It took him a moment to be able to focus on the knight after months of staring at nothing but water, and it took him another moment to adjust his ears to voices after the tuneless roar of water. Sire. So Arthur was alive. He couldn't smile, or laugh, or throw his head back, and if he had any sense of his lungs anymore he would have felt suffocated by this sudden unexpected collision of emotion.

Arthur felt no conflict of emotions arriving on the scene. His only emotion was horror. Leon was kneeling by Merlin's body, face grim. Arthur reeled, sinking against the opposite wall. "We're too late."

Leon, touching Merlin's cold wrist and neck, nodded, rocking back on his heels. They both sat, exhausted, no noise in the world except the crashing falls.

"How is that possible? The Lady..." He threw Excalibur across the cave, violently. "She _said he was alive, Leon_!" The dreadful disappointment, worse, so much worse, than the creeping grief and conviction he was dead during the time he was missing, the terrible false dawn of the promise he was alive, it was that, that he couldn't bear and took the air out of his lungs. He put his face in his hands. Calm. Calm. This could wait, this could wait until they weren't alone in a magical forest with the awful staring eyes of his dead friend. There was plenty of time for this later, in private. Calm.

"He is where she promised. It was just...too late. We have his body now, sire. For his family."

For his family. For Hunith. For Gaius. Yes. He took away his hands, arranging his gaze to exclude Merlin except from his periphery vision. "You're right, Leon!" he announced, in his best boisterously encouraging voice. "As usual! We need to get him back to the town, we can make arrangements for transporting him back to Camelot there....or Ealdor. No, it should be Ealdor. Yes, you and I need to take him home, Leon. He loved his mother very much. Gaius would understand." It felt good making plans, declaring intentions and working out how to fulfil them. "Go and get your horse, Leon. We can put him on that to get him back to town." He waited until he couldn't hear his footsteps above the waterfall, and then looked at Merlin. They stared at each other across the cave, while Arthur had a firm discussion with himself. Why not. This was his only chance. After this, would be the journey home with Leon, the trip to Ealdor, and then he would be by himself. With that strange, almost involuntary inner will of a drunk, Arthur got to his feet, walked over to the body, ruffled the messy black hair, kissed the top of his head lightly and said with such emotion that most people would not have thought the voice could possibly have issued from Prince Arthur, "I'm sorry, Merlin."

"It was the Lady of the Lake, wasn't it? I cannot think of any other magical friends you two have."

Arthur did not move from his kneeling position for a moment, feeling for and finding Excalibur in the corner where he had flung it. Staring at the profile of his dead friend, he got to his feet, turned, and faced Morgana. "Yes."

They stared at each other, having come to this. "You shouldn't have killed him Morgana," Arthur said, numbly, sadly. He had known, really, since finding her behind the curtain in deadened Camelot, that something about her wasn't right. He had always known her dreams were more sinister than everyone pretended. She had always fought Uther, she had always a coldness about her. Her betrayal left him both completely empty and completely unsurprised.

"He tried to kill me once."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"_Me _ridiculous! Me! Arthur, you are ridiculous. You make yourself ridiculous. If you knew the extent of your troubles, you would feel ridiculous, to think that you really _imagine _you are responsible for your successes! It's hilarious, really, it is." She laughed, a mocking laugh once reserved for when she beat him at sword-fighting, now with a genuine cruel edge.

"And I suppose you are?" he enquired, flippantly. "Come in, Leon," he added, seeing his knight creeping up behind Morgana. "You don't need to die for nothing. Come in."

"Of course I'm not, are you mad? Him."

"Merlin? Yeah, all right. Morgana, what do you want? Why did you kill him?"

"Arthur Pendragon, you are a fool. I didn't kill him. Unlike your father, I don't kill just on the basis of if and when I have the power to do so. He isn't dead. He's enchanted. Living, but dead to use. He broke the rules of the Old Religion, and is in exile. He tried to kill me, Arthur, to save the king. Can you imagine? He's killed so many of our kind, to protect you and your father. Only magic can break that shackle, great magic too. Greater than his, which is saying something. And as I mentioned, you two don't have any other friends apart from the Lady of the Lake, who wouldn't be equal to that either."

Arthur and Leon were both frowning at Merlin's prone body. "Greater than whose magic?" asked Arthur, heart pounding as rhythmically as the waterfall, thinking it was impossible, but then again it wasn't _technically _impossible, and so much would be explained, as Leon murmured: "No _way_."

"I'm sorry," said Morgana, with something approaching sincerity, raised her hand, and her eyes flashed.

Moments later, it was difficult to say who was more astonished. Leon gaped, Morgana was frozen in attitude, and Arthur scrambled to his feet, having crashed through a rock wall without, as far as he could tell, a scratch on him. He was battered, but not bloodied. The Lady hadn't been kidding. Grabbing the sword, he swung Excalibur, cutting through the shackle as easily as though it were butter. He knew it was true. Of course it was true. He had known for a while, in his heart, he had known no one could kill a dragon with one lucky strike of a spear, but since the dragon was gone, he had let his misgivings pass. It was madness. And who _had _got that Cornelius Sigan's soul back into the crystal? It was crazy to think it was Merlin, but then again, the one thing Arthur was perfectly aware of even here, was that crazy wasn't entirely unusual in his life these days. And that wind in Ealdor – that damned wind in Ealdor – it had _never _made sense – Will a sorcerer – and the tone of voice Merlin used saying his name...the damn _wind in Ealdor_.

"Arthur Pendragon, what _would _your father say? Magic! And strong magic! Consorting with Ladies of the Lake, using magical protection and weapons, what _would _Uther say? You would be on the fire! On the fire with all the others he murdered!" Morgana was howling with laughter now. She violently pushed him backwards again, and again he climbed to his feet, weaker, but not bleeding. He had spots in front of his eyes, but could see Leon dragging a staggering Merlin to his feet.

"Merlin," said Arthur. "Merlin, please – just _do _something– " He waved in Morgana's direction.

"No need for threats, Arthur," trilled Morgana, looking behind her at the swaying sorcerer. "I would have let him go eventually, you know. When we meet, it will be a fair fight. So I advise disposing of that scabbard at some point. You don't want us fighting unfair." The flash of light as she left sent Arthur, Leon and Merlin back on the ground.

Leon knew enough from serving Arthur to know when not to say anything. He left, to find the horses, to be absent, to get some air, to be anywhere but in the cave. Arthur lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, sword in hand, scabbard on belt, wondering what on earth he had become.

"I'm sorry," said Merlin, finally. He was sitting against the wall, too tired to move. "I'm sorry. I..." he was sorry for so much, and relieved for so much, that the sheer enormity of the emotions, coupled with the ability to express them externally, filled his eyes with tears. Relieved to be free, relieved Arthur knew about his and Morgana's powers, relieved that whatever was about to come could, at least, be faced honestly. "I'm sorry I never told you. I'm sorry I lied. I'm sorry I couldn't stop her escaping, I don't have my full power..."

"Quiet, Merlin." Arthur Pendragon, user of magic, consorter with Ladies of the Lake, protector of a sorcerer. Friend of a sorcerer, in fact. How many laws had he broken since Leon had woken him that night? He couldn't imagine the times Merlin must have lied, he _had _been made ridiculous. Yet he wasn't really angry. Wounded, maybe, but not angry. The fact it didn't even cross his mind to follow the law and report Merlin scared him slightly.

"Arthur –"

"Merlin, shut up." He had watched men and women go to the stake for years for using magic and harbouring magicians. Decent-looking people, guilty of just those crimes. And now here he was, guilty of the same, and here his friend was, guilty of the same, and the enormity of _his _crime of omission, as he had watched those people going to die, when he had _known _in his heart that magic and evil were not mutually inclusive, crushed him. Who _was _he?

"How did you find me? How did you get that sword?"

Merlin wasn't going to shut up. Arthur still didn't sit up, but did wave the sword above his head for Merlin's better view. "The Lady of the Lake came to Camelot. You have a connection with her."

"Do I?"

"Apparently. Don't you?"

"I don't think so. I didn't know I did."

"I'm not sure I believe you," he said, coldly, and he felt horrible, because he _did _believe him, he was just trying to hurt his feelings, and likely succeeded judging by the fact he went very quiet. "She certainly knew more about you than I did," Arthur added, still frostily, somehow not being able to put the brakes on the cruelty

"Arthur, I'm – "

"Sorry. Yes. I know." He was too. Desperately sorry. Sorry to such an extent that it couldn't be dwelt on now, on the wet floor of a cave in an enchanted forest.

Silence. Arthur struggled to rise above the hurt.

"She mentioned Freya. She said hello from Freya or something. Does that mean anything?"

With a shaking voice, Merlin described the Lady of the Lake. "Is that her?"

"Yeah, pretty much. You forgot the fact she looked pretty damp, but yes, in general. Why, how many Ladies of the Lake do you know?"

"I was in love with her." Merlin was walking out to the waterfall now, ready to leave the cave, voice almost lost to the water. He half hoped the words had been lost in the roar. But Arthur had heard, climbed to his feet, dragging Excalibur, heavy with the guilty knowledge of its magical powers, with him as he followed Merlin, saying "_You were WHAT_?" He was now completely bewildered. "When? When? How did I not know? How long was it going on for? Is it still going on? _What_?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Arthur," said Merlin, reaching Leon and the horses.

"I'm not sure you get to make that decision right now!" declared Arthur, getting out of the gloomy, clammy, cold and wet cave reviving his energies slightly. The sight of Merlin, waiting by the horse to help him up suddenly struck Arthur as completely absurd. "Do I even know you at all? Who _are _you? I mean, you're not my servant, are you? Why have you been pretending to be my servant and my -" Friend, he was going to say. But even now, he couldn't put that out there, he wouldn't be hurt like that in front of them both. Then a thought crossed his mind. "Were you...were you _conscious _back then? When I –"

Merlin suddenly found the saddle-bags fascinating. "I was conscious through bits and pieces," he lied, trying not for the first time to save Arthur's dignity. With a sigh, he added "I haven't really been pretending anything. I _have _been your servant, Arthur. In more ways than you knew – I've been helping you – I did try to kill Morgana, it was to save Camelot. It isn't the first time I've killed for you – I swapped Nimeuh's life for yours, I killed Sophia, I've saved Camelot...well, a lot. I ordered the dragon to leave Camelot. I helped Lancelot kill the griffin. I enchanted Valiant's shield and I loosened the assassin's girth and I saved Uther's life even though he would want me dead. I did all of these things for you, to help you help Camelot. I was helping you as much as cleaning your armour. I was fighting in a war you didn't even know you were in. I wasn't pretending, Arthur. It's just our partnership is...well, more equal than you might have thought. Look, do you want a leg up or not?"

Too much to think about. "No, hang on. Hang on." He struggled to get Excalibur, feeling in his exhausted arms weightier than any sword he had experienced before, back into the scabbard. "You have so much explaining to do. I'm too tired to even think about half of the things you need to explain, but they'll come back to me. But first on the list: the Lady of the Lake said none of this is about Morgana and Morgause, it's about the boy. What boy?"

Biting his lip, and patting the horse's neck, Merlin turned to the prince and said, "Yes, that's a very awkward topic, Arthur. You won't like it at all. Can we wait until we get back to Camelot?"

"You do know the _other _very awkward topic is that you should be burned at the stake in Camelot, don't you?" He scrambled up, inelegantly, but determined not to accept the proffered help.

He saw Leon's eyes widen in alarm, and Merlin, still standing by his horse, freeze, jaw setting, facing the possibility bravely but frightened. He looked down on Merlin until Merlin turned his face up, his frightened expression replaced with his familiar wide, infectiously cheeky smile. "Yeah, but you wouldn't, would you?"

He did know Merlin. And Merlin did know him. However much they didn't know, they still knew enough about each other. That was all the confirmation which he needed, for now, until he was at home, until he had time and energy to spend on thinking. Arthur dug his spurs in, hauling Merlin's arm to help him up behind him. "No."

As they left Broceliande behind them, with the prospect of the battle ahead of them, Merlin tried to think up a way of telling Arthur that, not only had the boy doomed to bring both Arthur and Camelot down escaped in the past from Camelot, but that Merlin had helped him and _not only that_, but so had Arthur.

There was no way that was ever going to sound good.


End file.
